Family is Pack, Pack is Family
by Sketchy-d00d
Summary: There's just one einsy-weinsy-tiny little major detail Derek's missing. Maybe his Betas can help him figure it out before everything spirals downhill. A Christmas Carol AU. I'd label it as no pairing but Sterek happens in the last few chapters. Oh, and Scott/Allison and Erica/Boyd. Whaaat? Straight pair? Yes. I'm capable.
1. Bah-Humbug!

_**OKAY EXPLANATION TIME! So I was searching for some Sterek to read (God, they've taken up my life) and I happened upon a story that's somewhere along the lines of a Christmas Carol AU. And before I even attempt to start reading it I just really wanted to write my ideas. So, yeah.**_

 _ **I don't really think I need to credit anyone since technically this will all be original (except for the whole Christmas Carol AU thing which, okay, maybe I should credit,) and we basically all know Charles Dickens wrote a Christmas Carol so... Yeah... The AU I happened upon belongs to hbrackett. Cheers mate!**_

 _ **Five hours of work and I finished it. A total of 16 pages. You guys are in for a ride. I'm estimating it's going to be a total of 5k or so words when it's all uploaded. Five chapters and an epilog. So, enjoy! -Cat.**_

* * *

Derek locked up the loft after everyone left. Of course they'd have decided to throw a surprise party this time of year, probably the one that Derek liked least. He loved Christmas before the fire but afterwards there really wasn't a point.

What fun was celebrating when your whole family was dead?

Yeah, none.

He kicked aside a pile of confetti that Stiles had given him a shower with when he stepped through the door. All Derek could say was thank god there was no glitter. If there had been glitter he probably would've ripped Stiles' throat out. With his teeth.

The sickeningly strong smell of cinnamon still lingered and Derek scowled. He thought he'd thrown the last of the pine cones over the balcony. He quickly glared–not glanced, Derek was too brash to glance–around in search of the offender.

He spotted nothing but his nose was practically screaming of the scented decoration's presence.

He sneezed. Then cursed. He was going to _kill_ Stiles.

He covered his nose with one hand and went about his search, glaring at everything that could possibly hide the pine cone. They were as large as his fists, how the hell could Stiles just hide something like that without it being in plane sight?

Then he saw something. A glint of aluminium that caught his attention. Slowly he walked over.

It was a tin. One of those annoyingly decorative tins that were always in stores come Christmas time.

Derek growled and picked it up. Then he realised where the cinnamon scent was coming from.

His nose tingled slightly as he opened the lid. Inside was row upon row of neat, tan cookies. And a note.

Derek raised an eyebrow and picked up the note.

 _Sweeten up, Sourwolf. Happy holidays! -Stiles_

Derek squinted and closed the tin, stuffing it into the highest cabinet to mask the scent. Then he turned to the rest of the loft–and promptly froze.

He hadn't realised just how big of a mess the pack had made before but now that he saw it he felt like curling into a ball and letting the crows pick at him. It would take hours to clean!

It was almost as if they'd been raised in a barn. Sighing, Derek pulled out his broom and dustpan. At least the pine needles smelled good, like the forest after a nice warm day.

He swept silently, collecting mugs of abandoned hot chocolate as he went. There was a sprout of mistletoe hanging a few feet in from the front door–no doubt Stiles' doing, again. Red and green streams of garland and cranberries looped around the main room and eight stockings hung just below the makeshift mantle.

Each stocking had a name; Lydia, Allison, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Stiles, and Derek. They also had little images that no doubt Stiles had paid to have put on.

Lydia's had a tiara and a dress, Allison's a bow and arrow, Scott's a lacrosse stick. Isaac's had a puppy, Erica's was adorned with what looked like leather clothing, and Boyd's had an ice ring. Stiles' had an image of textbooks and a laptop while Derek's had sunglasses and the Camaro.

Derek growled at them but left them hanging so he could take care of the rest of the loft. Jesus, it was as if they'd thrown a frat party.

Derek continued cleaning and refused to stop until his floor was clean and the mistletoe and garland were gone. He had started on the cranberries when he decided he needed a break.

He sat down on the couch, avoiding the cushion that smelled of Stiles and cinnamon, and turned on his television. The pack had begged him to get both so they could have proper movie nights rather than crowding around Stiles's or Isaac's phones.

He raised an eyebrow when the title screen of _A Christmas Carol_ came up. Well, it was better than _Rudolph_ or _Frosty_.

He started watching, arms crossed, as the movie played.


	2. Of Things That Once Were

Derek woke up to a rapping on the door. He hadn't even registered falling asleep.

With a deep groan he got up to open the door. "Can I help-?" He raised an eyebrow at the empty hallway.

Great. Some kid had decided to play ding-dong-ditch.

With a low growl Derek turned around–and most definitely did not jump when he came face to face with Boyd. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled. "I thought I told you to go home."

Boyd just stared.

Derek squinted. "Get out."

"Derek," Boyd said, his voice holding an eerie chill.

"Out!" Derek demanded. He even stepped aside so Boyd could leave.

Yet Boyd just stood there. Staring.

Derek flashed his eyes and tried again. "Get. Out."

Boyd moved–yet, with a jolt, Derek realised it wasn't out. He lifted a hand a touched Derek's forehead and a shocking cold went through his body.

"What are you-"

"I'm here to show you the past," Boyd said, his brown eyes remaining calm as shackles wrapped around Derek's wrists.

He cried out for help as the light faded, even shook the manacles, but nothing seemed to work. He was trapped.

::V::

Derek didn't know how long he'd hung there, alternately demanding help and trying to break free, but he didn't like it any less when a small stream of yellow light filtered in. He then realised he was in a basement of sorts and struggled again to try and free himself.

"Let me go," he demanded, and was confused when it wasn't his voice that spoke. It was, but not at the same time.

Derek glaringly watched the dark figure descend the stairs. He growled, letting his wolf transform.

"Derek," spoke a voice, a painfully familiar voice, "I'm so sorry." Where did he know that voice? "It's just, you were losing control and mom didn't want you to go all berserk on the sheriff and his family."

Laura stepped into view and Derek sucked in a breath. "But you're dead," he found himself saying, then wincing.

Yet Laura didn't seem to hear him and continued on as if he'd never spoken. "Come on, let's get you back upstairs."

Then Derek realised it. This wasn't Laura. Not really. She was younger, more frail looking. She couldn't have been older than fourteen, which meant Derek himself was eight and Cora was three. Meaning she didn't have to worry about shifting yet.

Laura unlocked the cuffs and Derek fell to the floor. He let her help him up and to the dining room while his thoughts swam.

This wasn't possible, he reasoned as Laura sat him down. There was no way he could've traveled sixteen years into the past.

He looked around the room and found everyone happily talking and eating. He desperately wanted this. He wanted for the fire to never have happened.

Derek straightened slightly. "Mom!" he shouted. She ignored him. He scowled and tried again. "Dad?"

No one seemed to have heard him. His chest ached.

"They can't hear you."

Derek turned around at the familiar voice and glared at Boyd. "What did you do to me?"

"I'm showing you the past."

Cryptic. Thanks Boyd.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Watch."

Derek really wanted to lunge forward and sink his claws into Boyd's throat and rip. He was the reason Derek was here, feeling the pain brand new again as if the fire had just happened. But before he could move Boyd was gone, and Derek was stuck in a memory where he could only watch and hurt.

After the meal Thalia ushered Derek to the washroom and scrubbed his face clean with a washcloth. He weakly batted at her hands and an involuntary yawn fought it's way out.

"Looks like somebody's tired," she said, smiling down at him. God how Derek missed that smile. "Come on, off to bed."

Derek allowed himself, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good to fight it. If this is what had happened there was nothing he could do to change it.

As soon as he was in bed he was being woken up. By a very hyper, very small Cora.

She bounced on him and then flopped down onto his chest. "C'mon Der, wake up!"

"What? Why?" he asked groggily, only mildly surprised when she responded.

"Is Chris'mas day!" Her dark brown hair flew about as she bounced on his chest again. "Get up, Der, get up!"

He chuckled and let her pull him out of bed. Boyd was hovering in the doorway. "What?"

"Have you learned yet?" Boyd asked.

Derek glared. "What are you getting at?" he growled.

But Boyd was gone again without responding.

And Derek was being shoved to the ground beside a tired looking Laura. His parents and Peter were sitting beside them as well. They were all gathered around a large, green Christmas tree.

Cora squealed eagerly and sat down, waiting for Thalia to start passing out the gifts. When they were all separated into piles of which is whose they were allowed to start unwrapping the gifts.

Laura got several books, none of which she was too happy about, and a small palette of makeup that she was happier of. Cora got a multitude of dolls and a hand-carved dollhouse that Peter had made himself and had to retrieve from the basement.

Derek, on the other hand, got boring items. New shoes, socks, even that Batman shirt he'd remembered being so eager to get. He grinned. It was the best gift ever and he was easier to shop for than his sisters. He at least preferred practical things.

The day dragged on as it had all those years ago and Derek was happy, really and truly happy. He grinned with his family, laughed at their jokes, and even lost himself in one of their festive icing wars which ended with most of the icing on them and the floor rather than the cupcakes.

Derek was almost so caught up with his family that he nearly forgot he wasn't actually there. Until Boyd showed up again.

Boyd was ever the looming figure, just there, and Derek frowned slightly. "What?"

"You've learned," Boyd responded, the same level of cryptic that Stiles would have said put Deaton's to shame. Speaking of Stiles, he would have been two and probably not yet connected by the hip to Scott. Boyd raised his arm again to tap Derek's forehead and he tried to pull away.

Before, of course, he realised it was inevitable. He just wanted to stay with his family, to have that happiness again.

He jolted awake on the couch.


	3. Of Things That Are

"Just a dream," Derek murmured, wiping sweat from his brow as he stood up. He walked into the kitchen and started the coffee machine. The caffeine didn't really do anything unless he drank enough to supercharge a race car, and even then he barely got a buzz. He just liked the taste.

He'd picked up the habit after the fire, after his dad...

He shoved away the thoughts and wished he could have Cora wake him up again Christmas morning. He wished he could smear icing cheerfully on Peter's face. He wished he could help prepare the Christmas ham with his dad.

His chest ached at the memories and he sighed. It was really no use dwelling on the past when he couldn't do anything to change it. He drank another cup of black coffee–sans sugar, which Stiles had always complained about–and had poured a third when the doorbell rang again.

He stared at it through squinty eyes–which Stiles no doubt would have made fun of had he been there–and carefully set his mug down. It was one of the only things that survived the fire and something that his mother had gotten him when he started high school, claiming he could use it on his late night study breaks.

He knew it was really just an apology since she'd decided to pass down being Alpha to Laura rather than himself.

He strode closer to the door and the bell rang again. He contemplated just staying silent and seeing if whoever it was would go away. Then they rang the doorbell again and he made up his mind. "Go away," he ordered, growling slightly.

The doorbell rang again and he ignored it, instead sitting on the couch to watch the movie. The cushion beside him sagged causing him to snap his attention beside him.

There sat Isaac, all curly haired and pale. He grinned brightly and Derek got a sinking feeling. "Let me guess, the future?"

"Nope," Isaac smiled, "present. We go in succession, Derek."

"Then who's next? After you?" If he was getting suspicious he had all rights, this kind of thing only happened in movies and books.

"That's for me to keep hidden and you to find out," Isaac replied easily.

All the crypticness (is that even a word, Derek?) was starting to make his head spin. "Okay. Alright. So now what? You show me Stiles weeping about how the big bad alpha ruined his perfect little plans?"

"No, actually," Isaac said, straightening his back slightly. "For you to understand completely I have to take you back a while then show you Stiles' weeping."

If Derek's chest felt like it tightened then that was his business. "Fine," he said.

Isaac smiled and raised his hand. He pressed two fingers to Derek's forehead and a chill filled his body.

::V::

"What the hell is this?" Derek heard himself growl. He opened his eyes and was greeted with what likely passed as the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

He and Isaac, spirit Isaac that is (as that's the only slightly accurate description Derek could come up with,) stood to the side, just behind the couch. They watched as Derek reprimanded his pack.

"Merry Christmas!" Stiles cheered, holding up a small snow globe. Derek hadn't taken the chance to actually look at it before–

The sound of glass shattering brought Derek back and he winced as Stiles made an indignant sound as he knelt to pick up the shattered pieces of the snow globe.

"What the hell, Derek-" Scott started, only to be stopped as Derek's angry snarl was turned on him.

"I won't ask again," Derek growled, "what the hell–" he motioned around "–is all of this?"

"Decorations," Stiles said. "We thought you could use a little Xmas cheer." Stiles was wearing a sour expression and Derek found himself regretting his overreaction. Not that he could do anything about it now...

"Yeah, Derek-" Isaac started.

"You stay out of this," Derek growled (God, he really does growl a lot doesn't he?) and turned towards Stiles again. "Explain."

"Dude, chill. It's Christmas. How could anybody hate Christmas?" Stiles crossed his arms and Derek saw his nose twitch, which meant that, yeah, he'd smelt blood. "I mean, it's not really possible to be all 'Bah Humbug, I hate you all' on the holidays, is it?"

Derek just... stared. And Stiles kept his gaze.

"We've never seen you celebrate once, so..." Stiles motioned around and Derek realised something he hadn't before. He and Stiles had both been standing under the little sprout of mistletoe.

"Can you really blame a guy for some Christmas cheer? I mean, so what if Santa Claus doesn't exist, it's the idea of family, of pack, that really matters, isn't it? Just hanging out with friends is enough, right?"

"Get. Out." Derek said. His eyes were still glowing and he had his fangs clinched tightly, so much that Derek could feel the pain just looking at himself. "All of you!" he shouted.

He watched his pack hurry out and himself kick the small potted Charlie Brown tree over before collecting the scattered pine cones and heading for the balcony.

The scene faded and Derek frowned. "Now what?"

"Now I show you what's currently happening," Isaac responded. He held out his hand, "Come on, it'll be a quick jump."

Derek tentatively held his hand out and Isaac barely had his hand on Derek's skin before the scene was changing.

He stood in Stiles' room, the same corner he'd scared the hell out of Stiles in all those years back. The whole 'my cousin, Miguel' thing came back and he flashed his eyes subconsciously.

Stiles wasn't even in the room. Was he supposed to go somewhere? Was he supposed to search for Stiles? Was this a jo-?

Stiles walked through the open door with a loud groan. "Stupid Derek," he growled. "Stupid anti-Claus. That's what he is," he hummed, "Derek the big bad anti-Claus."

He snorted and flopped down in his desk chair. Derek found himself frowning.

"I mean, he's not even that far off. All he needs is a holly wreath to mark the doors of his sacrifices." Stiles waved his hands dramatically and Derek realised the bandage wrapped around the palm of Stiles' hand.

"Can't even appreciate a gift..." Stiles dumped the broken remains of the snow globe onto his desk and scowled at it. "And I can't even fix it..."

He rested one arm on the desk and put his chin on it, messing with a part of the snow globe that Derek couldn't see. He stepped forward to get a better look and found a small ceramic wolf under Stiles' finger. It looked like it was howling up at the moon on a snow covered cliff...

And Derek had shattered it, destroyed the small piece of beauty that Stiles had brought him. A pang went through his chest and he realised Isaac was hovering over him.

"Ready to move on?"

Derek nodded, suddenly feeling as if he had cotton stuffed in his mouth. His throat was dry and felt constructed, as if he couldn't swallow even if he wanted.

Isaac didn't seem to need oral confirmation, however, and simply grabbed Derek's wrist again.

Next he was standing in Scott's room, watching Isaac pace back and forth in a tight line. Scott sat on his bed, watching Isaac.

"I mean, he wouldn't even let me speak. He just- ugh!" Isaac's hands flew up to his mess of tan curls and tangled into the locks. "Why do we even stick around?"

"Because he's our Alpha," Scott suggested sourly. He had his phone out and was typing a message.

"What are you doing?" Isaac asked. "You smell... emotional."

"Stiles just told me to cancel."

Isaac apparently understood because he nodded minutely. "I'll text Allison, you got Lydia?"

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed before Isaac was starting up again. "You know, sometimes it's really hard not to hate the guy," he grumbled. "I'll bet he burned all those stockings."

"And Stiles had to save up for like, what, five months?"

"Would've been longer," Isaac admitted sheepishly. "I was sneaking in extra money when I could."

Scott grinned. "I was too. Those gift socks cost a small fortune to get them customised like that."

Isaac nodded darkly. "I can't believe I helped Erica search through Derek's grandmother's old cookbook for a recipe she had marked under the 'Der-Bear' section. And Stiles spent a good amount of time perfecting that recipe too."

Scott nodded. "He might've gone a little overboard with the cinnamon though..."

"Well he is human. Different taste and smell."

A tapping on his shoulder startled him slightly and he was tearing his eyes away from Isaac to... look as Isaac. Well if that wasn't mind boggling.

"I've seen enough." Derek said.

Isaac studied him carefully. "Alright." He grabbed Derek's wrist and he was back on his couch, as if he'd never left in the first place.


	4. Of Things That Will Be

Derek got up and strode into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet he'd shoved the cookies into and fished the tin out. He then turned around to place it on the counter, only to come face-to-face with Erica (and ultimately drop the cookies all over the floor, but that's unimportant).

"We meet again," she winks.

"You were just here earlier," Derek says exasperatedly. Honestly, did she always have to keep up the dramatics?

"Well, yeah, but it sounds cooler." She stuck her lover lip out in a pout before crossing her arms and regaining herself. "Anyhow; blah, blah, blah, true meaning of Christmas, yada, har, bar, bar," she waved her hand a bit, holding an honest to god scroll in the other. "Yeah. Okay." She threw the scroll aside and grabbed Derek's wrist. "Back to the future! God, I've been hanging out with Stiles too much." Derek snorted, he couldn't argue that.

The, by now, familiar tugging sensation bit into him and dragged, blurring his surroundings as they went. They finally stopped in a small, dismal looking flat.

Three forms hobbled around inside and Derek edged forward curiously.

"Well?" Erica asked, posing like the diva she is with a hand on her hip. "Are you going in or not?"

Derek glanced at her as if she were insane. With an exasperated sigh Erica reached forward and pushed him, shoving him through the wall and tumbling into the scene.

Stiles, Scott, and Isaac were gathered around a sad looking heater. Technically speaking Isaac and Scott shouldn't need it, since a werewolf's body temperature was higher than a mere humans. They could easily keep Stiles warm by–

Stiles clicked his tongue and snapped. A spark shot from his fingertips and hit the heater, giving it a moment of superheating powers. Then it cooled slightly and Stiles sighed.

"It's probably not good to keep trying," Isaac said softly. He then looked at Stiles. "You could either burn yourself out or burn the place down with erratic magic."

Of course Stiles was still Stiles. Nothing new about that.

Stiles snorted. "I'd r-rather burn out my spark to be warm than f-freeze here. Just our luck the he-e-eater cut out." Derek inched closer and noticed the hardly suppressed shivers running through Stiles' body and the light blue tint of his lips.

Scott seemed to notice as well because he shifted close and pressed his leg to Stiles'.

"No!" Stiles yelped, jerking back. "I ha-have to do this. I have to be able to heat myself on m-my own."

"Look, just because Derek called you a dud–"

"You d-don't get it, do you?" Stiles barked out a laugh that had Derek's chest clenching tightly. "He called me a dud." Stiles waved his hands about. "Me, Scott. Not you. No, he'd never called you a dud. You m-might be a Bitten rather th-than born but not a dud. Nope," he popped the 'p', "not a dud, Scott.

"I'm a dud. You w-wanna know why? Because I sparked late. S-sparks normally develop their powers at age t-ten. Ten, Scott. I didn't until t-twenty one. Twenty one, Scott. That's legal d-drinking age. God, I'd give anything to have a bottle of Jack...

"I'm just a dud." He lowered his head and both Scott and Isaac exchanged a look. Stiles shivered once more, a strong jerk of his muscles that had his whole body convulsing.

Isaac put a hand on his shoulder to steady him and Derek realised that Stiles was falling asleep. His heart jumped into his throat.

Stiles was already falling hypothermic, it was easy to tell as each convulsion from the cold was more spars as time passed. Falling asleep wouldn't do anything but amplify any health risks.

He spun around to Erica. "Why are you showing me this?"

"They went after you," she said. "To Canada. During winter. They're staying in a workshop. A poorly insulated workshop with a broken heater," she motioned to the piece of metal between Stiles' feet. "They went after you because Christmas isn't the same if our Alpha isn't near."

Something clicked in Derek's mind. Everything he was shown. He felt stupid.

The past had shown him the happiness of family, of pack, celebrating something so simple. Holiday cheer basically streaming from their pours like rainbows from those freaky unicorn things.

The present was what he'd turned down. He had a chance to start again, to have that happiness all over and he'd turned it down.

The future... the future was what would happen if he continued as he did. Denying them pack, family, to celebrate with was like a business meeting that waits for the big macho CEO who never shows. Like dad not being able to make it to your birthday because of work. Like grandma being sick on thanksgiving.

His chest felt constricted but free at the same time. He looked at Erica. "Take me back. I need to go back. I have to fix it!"

A soft smile stretched on Erica's lips. She pressed two fingers to his forehead and everything blurred away.


	5. Making it Better

Derek jolted awake on the couch, suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. He glanced at the television and saw that the credits were rolling.

He'd slept through the whole movie... while simultaneously living the movie. That was an awkward realisation.

Derek jumped up, skittering into the kitchen and finding the tin of cookies where he'd put them. He opened the tin and took out a cookie.

The strong scent of cinnamon wafted through the air but Derek didn't pay it any attention. Stiles had spent energy labouring of these cookies. To make sure they were nothing but perfect.

Derek took a bite. It was sweet and cinnamony at the same time. A perfect balance for a human, even if the cinnamon seemed too over powering. Derek liked it, just like how he'd liked them every time grandma had made them.

An idea struck him. He was sure he had some wrapping paper somewhere.

Derek rummaged around the loft for objects before settling into the couch to wrap them. He shoved each object into the corresponding Christmas sock. He even found his wallet and stuffed two hundreds in both Scott and Isaac's socks before putting double that in Stiles'.

For the socks, he'd claim. And technically it wouldn't be a lie. Though it was also partially an attempt at an apology since he'd been such a dick.

He got his phone out and sent a text to everyone in the pack. Then he went about re-decorating the loft.

Around six thirty Derek was buzzing with energy. He'd even dressed in that silly Santa Claus outfit that Laura had made him buy in New York. He had cups of hot chocolate ready when the first pack members showed up. Of course it was Allison and Lydia. Who else?

Derek made them wait in the hall until the rest of the pack showed up.

Stiles was the last to show, obviously still bummed about the night before.

When the buzzing of questions got to the point where Derek felt like bouncing up and down like a child he threw the door open.

"Merry Christmas!"

Dead silence met him but he didn't really care. He had to make it right.

"I thought you hated Christmas." Stiles said. His flannel pyjama bottoms made that odd sound of cloth on cloth when he shifted.

"I've had a change of heart," Derek shrugged. He opened the door wider and ushered the pack in, glad they had all complied and come in their pyjamas.

Like a normal family Christmas morning.

As Stiles went to pass inside Derek caught him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

Stiles' pupils were blown wide when Derek pulled back. "What."

Derek smirked and pointed up. "Mistletoe." He'd shifted back slightly when the others had come in so he only caught Stiles under it. To accommodate for the day before, he reasoned.

Stiles just nodded blankly and continued inside with a dopey grin. Then froze. "Dude, what the hell? Where did that come from?" He was pointing at the behemoth of a pine tree Derek had stood up and dressed during the early morning. "Did you go out and cut that down last night?"

Derek's cheeks flushed and he looked away.

"No way," Stiles laughed. "Dude! That's awesome!" He examined the tree with something akin to pride. "Do you know how long I've dreamed of cutting down my own tree? Like, forever!" He looked like he wanted to hug the tree but was holding back.

Derek rolled his eyes and motioned him to the couch before passing out the Christmas socks. Stiles's eyes went wider (if at all possible) and he looked up at Derek with bright, whiskey eyes. "You kept them?"

Derek shrugged. "I was going to get to them last. There was fake snow, garland, and strung cranberries everywhere."

Stiles chuckled. "Too much?"

Derek beamed, an odd expression that everyone did a double take for. "Not enough," he replied.

::V::

"Dude! Your grandma's cookbook! Are you serious?" Stiles asked as he looked from the red leather cover to Derek.

Derek nodded and Stiles grinned, Pulling him in for a quick kiss. Derek decided he very much wanted to do this again.


	6. Epilogue

**_Hey guys! So I realise this probably isn't my most poplar story but I wrote it and I swore to myself I would post every chapter, no matter how discouraged I got when I didn't get reviews. Now before I continue I have a few things to say:_**

 ** _First off; I've got a new poll up on my profile so check it out and let me know what you want me to write next._**

 ** _Second; follow me on Twitter for Fanfiction recommendations and general updates and stuff._**

 ** _Third; I love every single one of my followers and readers. I wouldn't have 94 plus fanfics if it wasn't for you._**

 ** _Fourth; I've got a multi fandom shipping war forum and I'm looking for people to join it. It's a little more complex than a typical shipping war but I still think it will be tons of fun. Either PM me for the link or find it at the bottom of my bio._**

 ** _Fifth; okay, so my family is tight on money and everything at the moment and we're struggling to pay our bills and have enough money for food without going in debt. I feel like I need to help somehow so I've been working on some original works, meaning I don't really have much time to work on fanfics. Every now and then I'll get an odd prompt/idea that I'll work on so I'm still writing but I'm trying to write my own stuff as well. I've currently got a fantasy/adventure trilogy (maybe longer) underway and a fantasy/romance story. The last one is about werewolves and vampires an other supernatural beings. It's called Vampire's Calling and I'm really excited for it. I started working on it last year in school and haven't really looked at it since summer break so I'm going through an remodelling it._**

 ** _Sixth; so school's a pain in the ass, everyone knows that. I'm still in highschool (I know, I'm so young blah blah blah) and this year I'm being homsechooled. Thing is homeschool is too hard for me since it's more self guided and everything. So I'm asking my mom to put me back in public school for a year for eleventh grade until I turn seventeen and can drop out. School isn't my best subject and I've never really paid attention even when I was little. I was the kid that sat in the back of the class and doodled all over the work instead of actually doing it but always ended up getting really good passing grades. Don't ask how I did it because I don't even know. So anyway, I'm going to be stressing about school for about a year and a half until I can drop out. Once I do drop out I'll have more time to write._**

 ** _Seventh; I SERIOUSLY LOVE YOU GUYS! Stay awesome and never change! You're prefect just the way you are!_**

 ** _Epilogue_**

Stiles ran about the house, stringing lights and garland and cranberries everywhere. It was the biggest holiday to him and his fiancé. In fact, his fiancé (God he loved saying that) had proposed to him last Christmas.

He was twenty two then, his fiancé was twenty six. Now he was twenty three and they were planning their wedding for the next year. Erica had had two healthy twins during the year and they'd wanted to hold off a wedding until the little werewolves were a bit older.

Their friends kept insisting they were perfect for each other, ever since that first Christmas five years ago. Two years after the first Christmas Stiles had gotten the courage to ask Derek out. Derek had said yes and scooped him into a deep kiss.

Stiles moved from the strung decorations to the gingerbread house he loved decorating. Next was cookies. He had to make enough for thirteen hungry mouths; the eight adults and their five cubs.

Scott and Allison had two cubs. The eldest was a boy named Christon, the youngest was a girl named Jayde.

Erica and Boyd's cubs were the twins, Airiston and Ahster, both male, and their eldest, a girl named Viviana.

Viviana loved Uncle Derek and Aunt Stiles (much to Stiles' argument and Derek's amusement). Stiles had yet to find a way into bribing her to call him Uncle as well.

An arm looped around his abdomen and a warm hand came to rest just above his navel. He turned his head back slightly to lock lips with Derek briefly before turning back to his gingerbread house.

"How much more time do we have before the bell rings?" Stiles asked, humming and Derek's hand ventured lower to hook a finger around his empty belt loop.

"About four and a half hours." Derek replied smoothly.

Stiles smiled. He set down his icing bag and turned around in Derek's grip. "Might as well put that time to good use," he hummed seductively.

Derek rolled his eyes but allowed Stiles to lead him to the bedroom.


End file.
